The Long Shadows of Night
by Story Please
Summary: Written for Round 11 of the QLFC. Something dark and not quite human is stalking the halls of Hogwarts in the winter after the war. Hermione finds herself taken by mysterious and reoccurring dreams about a dead man...or is he? Horrible things are afoot when darkness falls, but Hermione knows that she cannot resist a good mystery, regardless of the cost.


Author's Note: Written for QLFC Round 11

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Captain

Captain's Prompt: a horror themed story on a winter's night(s)

Word Count: 2,975

Additional Note: This story takes place during the following January after the Final Battle. Canon does not specify it either way, but I am writing this story as though all surviving students are returning to retake their seventh year.

Beta Love: Thanks to Sekdaniels and Sehanine for the beta help!

* * *

 **The Long Shadows of Night**

"No way!"

"It's true! Death itself has been stalking through the Infirmary at night!"

"Don't you want to see it for yourself, though?"

"I—"

"A bit late to be out for a _stroll_ , isn't it?" Hermione glared down at the two girls. They shrank away from her in fear, and she idly wondered if she'd ever been so tiny in her first year at Hogwarts. "You know the rules. Stay in common room after supper for your safety. Five points from Gryffindor. Each."

The two girls hung their heads and she escorted them silently back to their common room, pretending that she could not hear their muttered remarks.

"Who wants to bet they were up to no good? Death, indeed!" Hermione complained to Harry and Ron later that evening.

"Well, I don't know about you, but Stebbins swears he saw Snape hovering over the Black Lake. For all we know, he rose from the dead as a vampire—for real this time!" Ron said, his voice growing tremulous as he held up one of the common room's fleece blankets like a cape.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Harry said with a shudder. "We finally defeated Voldemort once and for all. Is it too much to ask to have a normal year at school?"

"Mate, you're referring to the _haunted_ castle full of _magic_ that we currently attend, right?" Ron asked, and Harry smacked him lightly on the head with his rolled-up Transfiguration essay in reply.

"You shouldn't joke about Professor Snape, Ron!" Hermione huffed. "He died trying to bring Voldemort down once and for all!"

"He's still a git, 'Mione," Ron replied haughtily.

"You have to admit that it _is_ true, Hermione," Harry admitted. "I do wish that we could have given him a proper burial, though. It feels wrong that we were never able to recover his body."

"Why should you feel guilty? You didn't set the Shack on fire," Ron said with a sniff. "And anyway, I say good riddance! There were plenty of _others_ who deserved the limelight."

"Ron…" Hermione trailed off, giving him a sympathetic look.

"Don't you start, 'Mione!" Ron snapped. "I'm fine!"

He stood and stomped up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

"I'll go calm him down," Harry said, sighing deeply.

Hermione watched them go and finally gave up on finishing her essay. There was no way she was going to be able to focus enough to finish it.

She pulled a small, leather bound volume from her rucksack and opened it up. She'd confiscated it from one of the girls, who'd guiltily let it slip that she'd taken it without permission from the Restricted Section.

"Hmm... _The Deathly Dictionary_. Chapter One: Summoning Death," she mumbled, looking at the picture of a wraith-like figure floating over two wizards. "What nonsense."

As her tired eyes skimmed over the pages, they came to rest on a footnote that someone had written in blue ink.

"For finding restless souls," Hermione mused, her finger sliding over the spell, which was written in a spidery scrawl that she vaguely recognized. " _Animam Amisit Coniungeres_? What does that _mean_ , exactly?"

Even though she hadn't pulled out her wand while saying the spell aloud, and she was fairly certain that she'd mispronounced at least one of the words, she still shivered when a sudden blast of cold air extinguished all of the remaining candles in the common room, leaving her in the dim light of the dying fire. Hermione felt her eyelids growing heavy in the halflight. "I'll just...close them for a moment…" she trailed off, setting her cheek against the armrest.

The next thing she knew, Hermione was climbing up a familiar set of stairs— stairs that had been destroyed in the final battle. Logically, she knew that she was dreaming, and yet, she couldn't help but gasp as she looked up. A dead man stood before her, his hook-nosed profile outlined in shadow.

She didn't have much time to process her shock as, in the strange way that dreams move, she was suddenly standing in Dumbledore's office. She couldn't help but look at the Headmaster himself— he was the same as ever with his white beard and half-moon glasses.

"You...you... _fool!_ " Snape growled venomously, and Hermione flinched at the vitriol in his voice.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, "I supposed you would figure it out sooner or later."

"You have no idea what dark forces you are meddling with!" Snape's voice trembled.

Hermione stared. Whatever Dumbledore had done absolutely _terrified_ Snape.

"That is for me to decide, Severus," Dumbledore said gravely.

"Hah! You yourself keep saying that _I'm_ the expert when it comes to the Dark Arts!" Snape's fists were balled up tightly.

Dumbledore waved away the threat in Snape's voice. "I think that perhaps your time as a Death Eater has exaggerated your perception of Dark Magic, Severus. Just because magic can be used for evil does not mean that it is inherently so."

"See?! You did it _again_! You _always_ hold my Death Eater past over my head when it suits you," Snape said through gritted teeth. "And yet, the moment I tell you that I've had enough of your subterfuge, you reel me back in with promises of redemption. _Funny, that_."

"Sticks and stones, Severus. Sticks and stones," Dumbledore replied.

Snape laughed nastily at this, but it was obvious that he did not see any humour in the situation. "At least allow me to assist you, Albus!"

"Oh?" Dumbledore summoned a candy from the large glass jar on his desk. "And am I to believe that Voldemort's closest confidant has zero ulterior motives for doing so?"

"You are twisting my words and you know it!" Snape crossed his arms.

"And you are very good at taking orders, except, it seems, when you decide that you know better." Dumbledore fixed the Potions master with a knowing look.

"I—I never—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, but that goes for both of us. Just stick to your orders and I shall stick to mine."

Snape stepped back, his face conflicted as though he wanted to argue with the Headmaster, but then, with a final sneer, he turned and stormed out the door.

Hermione tried to follow him, but she found herself slipping backwards out of the room no matter how hard she tried to hold on.

" _Now then, where was I?_ " Dumbledore turned away from her and she had the vague impression that a dark figure was sitting behind his desk with a smile like a jagged gash...and then her eyes were open in the darkness. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking, for a long time until sleep claimed her once more.

* * *

The whispers of a shadowy figure being seen in the Infirmary after dark only increased as the nights grew longer. This was compounded by the fact that Madam Pomfrey had discovered that some of her stores had been tampered with. Healing salve had gone missing. Though nobody had been harmed, some were still convinced that Death had made itself too comfortable during the final battle against Voldemort and had come to Hogwarts to stay.

It had been less than a year since the final battle, and many of those who had stayed behind to rebuild still had trouble going out onto the back field where many of their friends and loved ones had fallen. Hermione and her friends had been instrumental in helping make the castle safe for occupancy in all but two of the towers by mid-November. With the small number of students returning to the school, classes were able to resume more-or-less on schedule. Some of the smaller passageways were still unsafe or full of debris, but the holes in the roof had been mended in time for the first snow. The first Christmas back in the Great Hall had been a subdued yet happy affair, but Hermione had been thankful for it.

The Burrow was mostly rebuilt as well, but Hermione's heart was at Hogwarts. As Head Girl, she had plenty of duties to keep her busy and nearly unlimited access to the library whenever she found her mind wandering to dark places. She could only bear to be away for a few days, and whenever she slept in a strange bed, she always seemed to have nightmares involving fire and Bellatrix Lestrange's mad cackle. Her reticience to stay at the Burrow during the holidays caused a number of fights with Ron, and she'd cried herself to sleep more than a few times.

Now, though, with the new year come and gone, a stillness had settled over the castle. People still tried to laugh and make merry, but joyful sounds seemed to fall flat and fade away. Even the Great Hall, which was nearly full each morning, seemed subdued. There had been reports of a strange, high sound, like the faraway chime of a bell in a distant tower. Hermione grew even more concerned when she began finding unconscious students in alcoves after curfew. They all told her that the last thing they could remember was hearing the wistful, melancholy noise up close and glimpsing a shadowy figure moving towards them ringing a silvery bell. None could remember what happened next, though, and Headmistress McGonagall instated an even earlier curfew to prevent it from happening again.

Still, no matter how diligently Filch searched and the Professors warded the halls, nothing was found.

"I'm telling you, it's a vampire!" Ron muttered one evening. He'd taken to wearing garlic around his neck, and so everyone was giving him a wide berth. "I've seen it following me a few times out of the corner of my eye, but every time I turn my head, it disappears."

"Vampires cannot get into the castle, Ronald," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Everyone knows that the Founders imbued the very stones of the castle with vampire-repelling runes. Besides, none of the affected students show any signs of being bitten."

Despite her confident words, Hermione had to admit she had reservations.

 _Something_ was very, _very_ wrong.

Each night brought dreams of her old Potions professor stalking down halls and passageways with a feverish look upon his pinched face. He would randomly stop and cast a silent spell, which convinced Hermione that he was searching for something. Sometimes, she would stand by and watch him yell at and threaten Dumbledore, but it was always the same— with a cold, calculating look combined with a slight shake of the old wizard's head, the matter was over.

"What could he be looking for?" she mused one evening, as they all sat together on one of the red velvet couches near the far wall of the Gryffindor common room.

"Snape is dead, Hermione," Harry said. "They're just dreams. You know that, right?"

Hermione frowned at this. She was beginning to wonder if that was true.

After that, Ron had tried to cajole her into a snogging session, and Hermione had pushed him away, angry at not being believed. They'd rowed loudly after that, and she'd fallen asleep after having a long cry into her pillow.

* * *

Hermione was dreaming. Logically, she knew this by the way she floated and flickered as she made her way down the halls like a ghost. And there, before her, she saw Snape standing with his palm against a stone wall, muttering something to himself.

Hermione floated over to where he stood, his head nearly pressed against the wall. From a cursory look around, Hermione could tell that they were on the fifth floor.

"Reveal yourself," Snape was muttering, his voice a tired whisper. " _Please_?"

Hermione was stunned. She'd never heard Snape ask _anything_ in a polite manner before. As the time ticked on, it became obvious that nothing was about to appear, and Hermione found herself even more stunned when he let out a shaky breath and silent tears began to run down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with quiet sobs as he fell apart before her.

"I...I can't keep doing this," he said shakily, trying to compose himself.

Hermione couldn't help it. She reached out and grasped the hem of his robes.

He turned abruptly to face her, his blotchy face filling with shock.

"How are you—" he managed, going silent as a familiar melancholy bell sounded.

Rather than being muffled, as it always had been before, Hermione could hear it echoing clearly in an ominous manner.

They both turned, staring down the side of the hallway from where the noise had originated. The darkness seemed to coalesce there, sucking the light from the torches on the wall. Hermione could make out the shape of a silvery white bell dangling in thin air. The sound of footsteps was growing closer, but all Hermione could see was the darkness advancing upon them like an inky cloud.

"Go now! You don't belong here," Snape warned, shoving her in the opposite direction. "Leave now, or he will get you."

"To..ooo...la..aate...Se...veru..s…" A grating, staticky voice crackled to life from the gloom.

Rather than push her again, Snape shielded her with his robes. Hermione could tell by the way he stumbled that he was in pain.

Hermione gasped as she finally beheld the dark shape at the end of the hall. It was as though a shadow stood on its own two feet. Two holes where eyes should have been and a wide gash of a mouth were the only definable characteristics.

"Begone, foul thing!" Snape sneered, pulling his wand from his robes and swiping in a jagged manner.

Cuts crisscrossed through the shadow, tearing it apart, and its jagged mouth turned down. "No…fa...air..."

And then it was gone.

"So," Snape said, whirling around and fixing Hermione with a scowl, "how did you find me?"

"You...you're alive," Hermione said dumbly.

"I think we've established that fact, yes," Snape replied.

"But... _how_?"

"Unfinished business," he said simply.

"What was that?" Hermione pointed to the hall, which was no longer the least bit dark.

"Unfinished business," he repeated. "It's feeding off of the negative energy in the castle and all that power makes it think it is more than what it is."

"There was a spell...I may have used…" Hermione looked away, embarrassed. "In the _Deathly_ _Dictionary…_ "

He fixed her with a long look and then snorted loudly. "I should have known."

"What?"

"Written in the margins. You tried it out, didn't you? My only question is how it got tied to—well it doesn't matter anyway."

"Please, Sir. Let me help you."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Help me? I'd prefer to _Obliviate_ you and be done with it."

"You can't!" Hermione replied, aghast. "Everyone has the right to know! They think you're dead!"

"And that is how I wish for it to remain, Granger," Snape replied wearily. "I'd have already left the country had it not been for Dumbledore's malfeasance. His damned shadow is going to kill someone if things continue on like this!"

"I promise, I won't tell anyone!" Hermione begged. The mere thought of having him take the truth away again made her feel ill. It was ironic to find herself in the very situation that she'd inflicted on her own parents more than a year ago.

A strange sort of madness possessed her, then, and she threw her arms around him tightly.

Snape stood very still and said nothing, his dark eyes full of silent calculations.

"No," he said, finally, but his voice was soft and he placed his hand gently on her head to comfort her. "Believe me, it is much safer this way."

Hermione looked up at him tearily, her fingers digging deeper into the cloth of his cape.

Carefully, he placed his wand against her forehead. " _Obliviate_."

* * *

Hermione woke up feeling oddly refreshed. She could vaguely recall hearing the ghostly chime of a bell and watching someone turn towards an unknown assailant. Her ears still rang faintly from the sound of a pitch black form screaming like a fiend from hell as a figure in billowing robes bathed it in a bright column of light, banishing it away to wherever dark place it had come from. Then, there was the strangely wonderful sensation of having been carried carefully up to her bed and gently tucked in.

But that couldn't be right, could it?

"Just a nightmare," she muttered to herself, readying herself for the day. Hermione could feel the details beginning to grow fuzzy around the edges.

It was only when she went to grab her wand from the bedside drawer that she realized there was an unfamiliar book bound in green leather sitting on top of her Advanced Transfiguration textbook. She picked it up and examined it carefully.

" _Perfecting Potions by Severus T. Snape_ ," she read slowly, her eyes scanning the inscription inside.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _It is with great enthusiasm that I relinquish the thankless task of saving the world to you. After all, you have always been more capable of it than I. Perhaps my book will assist you. If not, you can always use it for kindling._

 _Yours,_

 _Professor Severus T. Snape, Potions Master_

 _P.S. I rather enjoyed your essay on alternate uses for dragon's blood._

Hermione bundled up the book in her arms and raced to the window, as though she might catch a glimpse of him disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. When she looked out, however, all she could see were pristine snow-covered hills.

"Thank you, Professor. Your secret is safe with me, " she whispered against the soft leather of the book.

Normalcy—well, what passed for normalcy at Hogwarts—had returned to the castle. But, though she was glad that no one was under threat of attack any longer, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if there was something incredibly important that she had forgotten.


End file.
